BIO:
Jill Hughey has loved historical romance since sneaking peeks at her mother's library years ago. She has enjoyed writing just as long. She prides herself on characters and settings that take her readers on long, satisfying journeys to places they have probably never been in a book before.

Jill lives in Pennsylvania with her two sons and husband where she works as administrator in their Macintosh computer consulting business. Her hobby is singing lessons, in which she studies classical soprano and some lighthearted works.

Q: What part of the book is the easiest for you to write? Why? A: The beginning. Everything is possible then. I haven’t created any characteristic or situation that I have to take into account. I can just start. I love the moment when the research and outlining are done and the words begin to flow.

Q: Do you eat comfort food when writing? If so, what food inspires your imagination? A: All food is comfort food when I’m writing. I have to fight the urge to nibble all day long. I crave anything salty and crunchy so it is best if I just don’t have snack foods in the house at all!

Q: What hobby do you enjoy when not writing? A: I sing. I’ve taken classical soprano voice lessons for about seven years and I sing once a month at a local retirement home to help me deal with my stage fright. My voice suits the Baroque period so I’ve learned Handel and many of his contemporaries, and also a wide assortment of musical theatre pieces.

Q: What’s your strongest point as a writer? A: I develop deep characters. I really need to understand why a person is acting the way they are in my stories.

Q: You’re on a remote island with a handsome man/beautiful woman (you choose which one), a computer, and a “mysterious” source of electricity to power your computer. What do you do?A: Find fresh water, send the man out to gather firewood for a signal fire, and try to figure out how to use the computer as a transmitter. I am annoyingly practical and organized – just ask my husband. By the time I noticed the man was handsome he would be unshaven and dirty and no longer handsome.

Q: What genre would you like to try writing in but haven’t yet done so? Why? A: I am going to try a new adult apocalyptic series after I finish the last book in my Evolution Series of historical romances. I have a degree in geology and I have had an insistent idea percolating for about eight months that will allow me to use my interest in earth science. I just need more time.

BLURB:
A tailor’s abandoned daughter fashions a vain nobleman’s tunic, finding passion between the neckline and hem as misfortune forces her into his precarious aristocratic world.

EXCERPT:
The sound of hoofbeats broke through her trance too late. The animal was all but upon her before she instinctively darted off the road, tripping into the first line of trees.

“Fool!” a voice shouted. “What do you think you are doing?”

Lily cringed behind a tree. Her lord had come, astride the great war horse he called Caball. The stallion spun once in the road before quieting. Even though the huge beast looked like a dark demon from hell, just as the farmer had told Nox, the man upon its back commanded more of her terrified attention. Anger rolled off of him in waves she could feel even without seeing his face.

“Idiot!” The sharpness of the insult made Caball sidestep, hooves clattering against the stones on the road. “You thought you would just walk to Strazburg, alone and defenseless. Do you know how far it is to Strazburg? Eleven leagues, you twit! You could never walk it in a day. Here you are, after dark, out on the road for every brigand to find.”

She watched him, some primal instinct holding her frozen like the mouse that knows it has been spotted yet does not twitch.

“I have a house full of guests,” he ranted. “I have business to attend to and an unholy war to go fight in a month. Here I am, chasing after you on some fool’s errand. I thought that son of a bitch, Riculf, had taken you. I thought, ‘How odd that he let her collect her things and leave her little corner so tidy.’ Then, as I unsheathed my spata,” he paused oddly on the word, then repeated himself, “as I unsheathed my spata to go kill the man once and for all, Gusta finally spoke up to tell me she watched you leave right after we had all gone to church. She noted what direction you went then returned to her cooking. Damn it!” He flung himself off the back of the stallion in a smooth, well-practiced arc, landing spryly on his feet. He took two steps to the horse’s head. “I have a plan, Lily. I know exactly what I am going to do with you next week and then you will be fine.”

“My lord,” she ventured with a quavering voice. “My future is not yours to plan. I do not want to be your responsibility anymore.”

“And what future is that? Do you think you will arrive at your father’s doorstep and he will suddenly change his mind? Wake up, Lily,” he spat. “He saw you at the festival. Saw Riculf put his hands on you. If that did not soften his heart, nothing will. His woman controls him, body and soul. I do not know why. I do not know how, but that is the fact.”

Lily shifted the heavy load on her back. “He will help me. I only need a few days, then I will have money for my own room.”

“That is not a plan. It is a dream,” he scoffed. “Bernard runs a very lawful city that is still not a place for a beautiful young woman to live on the streets. Men prey on women like you, Lily. They sell you for slaves or prostitutes, and my shed will look like the palace at Aix-la-Chapelle to you after a few nights of that.”

“Stop it!” she cried. “Why can you not leave me alone? I do not want to be your responsibility. I do not want to sew clothes for Rotruda’s spoiled children or be pitied by the woman who was supposed to be my mother-in-law. I will not go back to Ribeauville with you, so you might as well turn around right now. You can be home in time to drink wine with your friends again tonight.”

Her lord was upon her before she could even back up. He did not touch her as he towered over her, a shadowy tormentor come from the darkness. “You will go where I say and there is not a damn thing you can do to prevent it.”

He did not frighten her. Instead, her spirit crumbled, finally broken by the torrent of unkind, painful truths. “I know,” she croaked. “But if I do not get to decide, how is that different from being enslaved? How is living a half-life in your shed any better than living as some other rich man’s slave?”

Anything else you’d like to add?
The fifth installment in the Evolution Series will be coming soon, so I hope you’ll give my historical romances a try. Thanks for the opportunity to visit today on RB4U!